a reflective and futile guide to life as an expat in london. formerly milan. formerly formerly seoul.
but who really gives a shit anyway. are you still reading this? hello?

Saturday, December 19, 2015

our last holiday card

My attention span is generally too short for even a television to capture, but i happened to see one episode one time in which Kevin Spacey outfitted as a politician said he loved his wife "more than sharks love blood", and with a mouth full of peanut butter/banana/honey on soft white, I pointed enthusiastically at the telly and shouted "EXACTLY Francis", then i flexed my biceps because i enjoy the human connection.

Little about mine and Giulio's relationship was conventional, and the same applies to our breakup. Though I am not yet equipped to speak about it freely, I will just say that in my best state I fall to my knees with gratitude for the five heavenly years we spent together, and at the worst I wonder if i will ever pass another moment when the light of day itself does not remind me of him.

When I was ten I was an avid little figure skater. I was quite sweet and not yet corrupt, although still remember my internal condemnation of those who, thinking they were clever or original, would tell me that "at least when you fall the ice is already there". I never experienced heartbreak until now, actually I had come to accept it as a common life experience that I would have gone without. But now that my organs have been scattered across Italian soil, I acknowledge the convenience of it happening while I am already home to THE destination where the broken hearted retreat to soul search and reclaim what is theirs. I fell and the ice was indeed, already on my ass.

I have never felt community the way I have of late. It's an experience in itself observing how one human approaches another he sees suffering; people come out of nowhere to offer a hug, or a compassionate glance, or a bottle of wine. Even the unsolicited bad advice I have received has been cathartic, probably because it's so bad that it's actually good. Or at least funny. You know, there is always humor lurking in even the darkest of corners. Last week my lovely middle aged male Sri Lankan house cleaner asked me "where is doctor?" and I could not tell a lie:

"He is staying with a colleague. He left me."

-stares blankly- then:

"NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO"

Over the preceding days I had become used to this reaction, so I knew to just stand there in silence until he rode out the wave of disbelief. Then the advice:

"I think he found someone better than you, someone more rich, more money. You were very foolish, you know why? Because you lived with him for this long and you didn't marry him sooner. Now you have to go out there and find someone better than him, but this time don't be foolish, you take the next man by the neck [extends arm with clenched fist] and you marry him before he leaves you."

-sighs-"I just can't believe this."-long pause-[shakes head]"Don't his parents like you?""yes they do"[angry tone] "THEN WHY CAN'T THEY FORCE HIM TO MARRY YOU?"[i laugh] "No, I don't want to be --" [cuts me off][shouting] "WHY not? WHY can't they? THEY CAN FORCE HIM TO MARRY YOU. THEY HAVE TO"-long pause-[shakes head][looks defeated][sighs]"Did he at least get you a nice Christmas present?"_________

Aside from filtering through sentiments, I have been looking to recovery by running the gamut of cliché breakup activities. I attempted to chop off all my hair, however the hairdresser intervened. Instead they wrapped me up in plastic like a sofa too good to exploit, after which I emerged blonde AF.

I have been alternating between provocative thoughts inspired by Thus Spoke Zarathustra and provocative thoughts inspired by the female anatomy in Orange is the New Black. I caulked the sink and shower- an activity I now affectionately refer to as CAULKBLOCKING.

Then I made a galette, because until the day I made it I didn't know what a galette even was. This one was with a flaky whole wheat crust, roasted pumpkin and sage, caramelized onions, chevre, and honey.

I have been exploiting my girlfriends...

...and been exploited by my girlfriends.

The list goes on. But for now I will leave you with the ultimate in mine and Giulio's series of stanky holiday cards, captured at the world's largest salt flat this August in Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia.

Together we wish you a holiday season more sweet and less salty than ours,

Dude, this is so random I bet, because this blog very well might have been for your friends or family - but I have had it bookmarked for yonks. I stumbled upon it ages ago when trying to cope with moving to Italy and i loved your humour and your writing style.

Anyway... I felt mega connected to your story, because I too was in this relationship with this mega charismatic Italian boy. Roughly the same amount... almost five years. I remember thinking, Oh, how weird I'll never know what it feels to have my heart broken. And then... bam. Right at the side of the god damn Parthenon.

Now all I can see is the Parthenon.. like everywhere. I am like number 23'ing this shit.

AND to make it worse. He's donned the purple of Fiorentina so I have to bloody move to Canada, because thats pretty much the only country I can think of that isn't into the world game.

Are you kidding that was the opposite of weird to read, I only wish you had written years ago! The question is- have I caught you before you crawled into an icebox in Halifax? Are you in Italy? When can we meet for a double negroni?